You pick a note up from the dusty floor. It's worn, seemingly with age and several readings but you can quite easily make out what it says:
Hey.
If you're reading this, it means that I have died (as my city has gone up in smoke)
and you have found my last message to this world.
What's it like?
is it nice?
Is it lifeless,
barren?
Has the ozone disappeared yet?
I know you won't be able to respond to this
(as I am long gone)
but I hope this note finds you in good health and luck.
Well wishes,
Zenos Pheonyx, Treasurer of Giantopolis
You look at the note, squinting as you try to make sense of it. Who the hell is this Zenos guy and why have they left this letter? You shrug and sigh. Whatever. It doesn't make sense anyway. What's the point in pining for what is gone?
You glance around the attic. Your grandfather painted over the windows this morning, screaming something about Giantopolis getting blown up? You shake your head. He's lost his marbles, you think to yourself as you shove the note into your pocket and walk downstairs.